e a babe; she maketh me to wear a woollen petticoat in
winter-time, though I was not brought up to't; and she will never
let me drink more than one mug of cider at a sitting, and I nigh
eighty, and needing on't to warm my bones.

_Corwin._ Hath she ever afflicted you? Your replies be not to the
point, woman.

_Nancy._ Your worship, she hath never had any respect for my
understanding, and that hath greatly afflicted me.

_Hathorne._ Hath she ever shown you a book to sign?

_Nancy._ Verily she hath; and when I would not, hath afflicted me
with sore pains in all my bones, so I cried out, on getting up, when
I had set awhile.

_Hathorne._ Hath your mistress a familiar?

_Nancy._ Hey?

_Hathorne._ Have you ever seen any strange thing with her?

_Nancy._ She hath a yellow bird which sits on her cap when she
churns.

_Hathorne._ What else have you seen with her?

_Nancy._ A thing like a cat, only it went on two legs. It clawed up
the chimbly, and the soot fell down, and Goody Corey set me to
sweeping on't up on the Lord's day.

_Giles._ Out upon ye, ye lying old jade!

_Hathorne._ Silence! Nancy, you may go to your place. Phoebe Morse,
come hither.

[Phoebe Morse _approaches with her apron over her face, sobbing. She
has her doll under her arm._

_Hathorne._ Cease weeping, child. Tell me how your aunt Corey
treats you. Hath she ever taught you otherwise than you have learned
in your catechism?

_Phoebe_ (_weeping_). I don't know. Oh, Aunt Corey, I didn't mean
to! I took the pins out of my doll, I did. Don't whip me for it.

_Hathorne._ What doll? What mean you, child?

_Phoebe._ I don't know. I didn't stick them in so very deep, Aunt
Corey! Don't let them hang me for it!

_Hathorne._ Did your aunt Corey teach you to stick pins into your
doll to torment folk?

_Phoebe_ (_sobbing convulsively_). I don't know! I don't know! Oh,
Aunt Corey, don't let them hang me! Olive, you won't let them! Oh!
oh!

_Corwin._ Methinks 'twere as well to make an end of this.

_Hathorne._ There seemeth to me important substance under this
froth of tears. (_To_ Phoebe.) Give me thy doll, child.

_Phoebe_ (_clutching the doll_). Oh, my doll! my doll! Oh, Aunt
Corey, don't let them have my doll!

_Martha._ Peace, dear child! Thou must not begrudge it. Their
worships be in sore distress just now to play with dolls.

_Parris._ Give his worship the doll, child. Hast thou not been
taught to respect them